The Focus Group Made Me Do It
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: “I’ve spoken with a focus group, and they think that you and I belong together.”


Disclaimer: I don't own _30 Rock_.

"I've spoken with a focus group, and they think that you and I belong together."

Liz inhaled a mouthful of donut, coughed wildly until it splattered against the nearest wall, and wiped jelly off her chin with the back of her hand. "Excuse me, what?"

Jack, apparently unconcerned by her choking fit, said, "A focus group thinks that you and I need to get together." He held up a hand to forestall her objection. "I know, I know, it's a ludicrous idea. You're far too old for me and frankly you're one of my most masculine employees."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's not what I was going to say. Why do you care what a focus group has to say about our personal lives?"

He stared at her with that pitying, _oh, Lemon, however have you survived to the age of 38?_ look. "Lemon, focus groups are the best way to glean what the world wants and expects from us. They're like an election—you're in support of elections, aren't you?"

"Of course I am! Democracy is the cornerstone of American—"

"Let's not get carried away," he interrupted. "I know _your_ version of democracy, and I've never understood why you think the poor elements of society deserve a vote. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, maybe we need to give this—us—a chance." He cringed a little and took a step closer to her. "Maybe we should—go on—a—"

"Date?" she finished for him, since he seemed to find the word too repulsive to speak.

He exhaled in relief. "Yes. Precisely. A date."

She stared at him. "You're serious."

"Of course." He sounded offended. "I don't joke about focus groups." She immediately thought of three great jokes about focus groups she could use in the show. Jack's eyes narrowed at her expression. "I don't joke about focus groups, and neither should you," he said seriously.

Liz blinked. "Wait, why were you even asking a focus group about us?"

"I didn't ask them about us, specifically. I was asking them about a new show I conceived of in the shower the other day: _Office Romance…Or Is It?_ The show focuses on two main characters, a handsome, charismatic executive and his less attractive, manner-less, yet inexplicably charming subordinate. The focus group said that they would watch the show for the sexual tension between the characters and that the characters should ultimately…I believe 'hook up' is how they put it. It was only then that I realized the characters could easily describe us—well, except for the 'burning sexual tension that resonates between them in every scene'—and it would only be cost effective to use the same focus group results for multiple aspects of my life."

"I'm not hooking up with you on the say so of that focus group."

His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"For one thing, my life isn't going to be dictated by a bunch of strangers. For another, you didn't give them nearly enough information about us for them to make an informed decision. Plus, we don't have the, y'know, the—" she waved her hand "—burning sexual tension thingy. That seems like a big deal."

Jack took a step closer, his eyes gazing down into hers. "Perhaps you're right," he murmured. "So you won't even consider it?"

She hesitated. Why was she hesitating? This was absurd to even consider! "No. No, I can't—"

Tracy poked his head in her office. "Liz Lemon!" he shouted. "Will you come tell Jenna Maroney that—" His eyes suddenly went wide and he looked from Liz to Jack and back again. "Oh boy, were you two about to get busy? I can feel the burning sexual tension from here! I'll come back later—but if Jenna tells you that I accidentally dropped a box of rats in her dressing room, don't believe her." Then he was gone.

Jack and Liz stared at each other. Liz took a deliberate step back.

"You know," Jack said speculatively, "the focus group should be back in the building today previewing the pilot of _Child Swap_. Maybe we should go speak to them."

"Oh, boy, I've got a lot of work to do here," Liz said, clutching the corner of her desk.

"Come on, Lemon," he wheedled. A devilish gleam came into his eye. "I'll buy you three hot dogs afterwards."

"Deal," she said immediately.

The focus group was comprised of about twenty middle-aged men and women, all of whom were avidly watching _Child Swap_ ("But I don't want to take a bath!" "I knocked my own children unconscious and dropped them into vats of boiling water—don't think I won't do the same to you!") when Jack and Liz came in.

Jack signaled to someone to turn off the projector, then cleared his throat as everyone's attention swiveled to him. "Good morning," he said. "My name is Jack Donaghy, and this is my employee, Liz Lemon."

She elbowed him in the side. "What kind of introduction is that? I'm his friend," she told their audience. "His totally platonic, no-romantic-feelings-whatsoever friend."

He turned to face her, as if excluding the focus group from a private moment. He was smirking—why was he smirking? "Lemon, why do you always have to disagree with everything I say?"

"I don't always disagree with everything you say. I only disagree when you're being a moron. I don't disagree when you insult my clothes, do I?"

He cocked his head, his eyes raking over her from head to toe. "That's true; but then, your clothing choices are rather indefensible."

Her eyes blazed and she took a step closer to him, so close they were almost touching. "You know, it's not as if you're Mr. Perfect. You have—Smug—And you're so—" she sputtered.

His smirk widened.

"Jonathon!" she concluded. He frowned in confusion. "You come with baggage. Crazy people flock to you. Bianca. Jonathon. Your mother. Me. That's not an attractive trait, you know. _And_, you're a Republican!"

Someone in the audience gasped.

"And yet, you enjoy spending time with me, don't you?" Jack said.

"You're not always an ass," she said grudgingly.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "And," he said in a low voice, "you're not always terrible to look at."

He leaned in a little and her breath caught. Was he going to—Why did he always taunt her like—Oh God, he was getting closer—

Just before their lips would have touched he pulled back, eyes gleaming with smug triumph. She sagged as he turned to face the focus group.

"Those of you who believe that Ms. Lemon and I should be married and producing intelligent, attractive babies within a year, raise your hand."

Every hand in the crowd went up.

"Thank you," he said.

He grabbed Liz by the elbow and half-led, half-dragged her out into the hall.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she demanded. "I get that you don't want to kiss me, Jack, but you don't need to—mmmmmm."

Apparently "mmmmm" was the sound she made when Jack swooped in, pressed her against the wall, and kissed her with a lot of passion and quite a bit of tongue. She meant to push him away, but somehow her arms came up to wrap around his neck instead. Oh. Oh, yes. This was very nice.

It was a long time before they parted for air and even then they stayed locked in an embrace, their foreheads pressed together as they panted.

"I'm still not going to date you because a focus group said so," Liz said.

"That's not the reason I wanted to date you, Lemon," Jack told her.

"Oh."

"Is that a yes?"

"Kiss me again, then I'll consider it."

"Whatever it takes," he said solemnly, and before she could complain about the fact that he always had to have the last word, his lips were on hers again and there was no need to speak.


End file.
